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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24656218">Turquoise</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/unreadmessages/pseuds/unreadmessages'>unreadmessages</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gift Giving, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Teasing, arthur is shy and unsure, literally just cowboys by a fire what will they repress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:55:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,035</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24656218</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/unreadmessages/pseuds/unreadmessages</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d feel guilty selling it, a pretty thing with too much significance, but he’d feel wrong keeping it, remembering all too clearly the confessions from the man he stole it from. Maybe giving it to Charles could be a way to revive it, making it more than just a reminder of past horrors and unpleasant events. Another chance to bring the happiness it was meant to. </p><p>aka no one knows what to do with the native ring collectible and I can’t give it to Charles bc rockstar hates me, personally :( so ive taken matters into my own hands....</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>119</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Turquoise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>*aggressively listens to connie francis and patsy cline while writing this* yeehaw</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s a bad habit, really. </p><p>Not because the morality of stealing the valuables off of corpses bothers him, but the danger that comes with lingering around a crime scene for too long. Too many bodies mean too much attention which means whoever comes around the corner in the next five minutes and sees him picking off anything he can find is gonna bring hell, the kind of hell that wears a badge.</p><p>Not really the kind of hell worth the extra five minutes spent collecting five dollars and a pack of cigarettes over. And yet, Arthur really can’t help himself. The Van Der Linde gang weren’t strangers to theft, but there was something about looting the bodies of people who had shot first or lost the fistfight or whatever had to happen for Arthur Morgan to have to kill you. It was almost like a reward with how quickly the silver and gold added up, how he’d be walking away from a fence with eighty-seven dollars made in one evening. Stopping himself from looting random corpses he came across, or people who had a freak accident that he just happened to be witness to, was starting to be difficult. </p><p>Especially when it was just so damn <em>easy, </em>too. </p><p>That proved to be the start of his conundrum. It was nearing the end of a day full of too much gunfire that his ears were still ringing hours later, thanks to Micah’s total disregard of consequences all for the sake of two pistols, that Arthur happened to take in the view of a lake on his way back to camp. </p><p>As he approached the shore, the dim glow of a campfire caught his attention. Getting closer, he saw a man sitting on a chair, his bearings laid out next to him. </p><p>“Hey- Hey mister! Come s-sit here, by the fire. By… by the fire,” the stranger called out to him, waving around a bottle of whiskey in his hand. </p><p>For some reason, Arthur does.</p><p>“The sins I’m carryin’ around…you wouldn’t even believe.” </p><p>He watches the other man, vigilantly, although with his current state Arthur’s sure he couldn’t even shoot right at something in front of him. </p><p>“You heard of Fort Riggs? Southwest of Strawberry…”</p><p>The man tells him of his regrets, how he used to work in transporting the natives to the reservations, confessing to Arthur of all his mistakes. How well the government paid, and how fast the money went. </p><p>Hell, Arthur wasn’t anyone to be playing the role of confessional booth priest with. But still, he listened. </p><p>Arthur sat and listened until the man passed out. </p><p>It was too easy.</p><p>He didn’t necessarily pick the pockets of all the sad, drunken, passed out men he came across. Either for the sake of a personal moral compass that seemed to point every which direction or because it was a little <em>too </em>easy it felt… criminal. This guy, though, he could rob. Out of spite or out of payment for having to sit through all his spew, he didn’t really care. </p><p>Plus, if he had anything good, it could feed people at camp, good people that Arthur knew would benefit from this scenario that felt wrong in every part. </p><p>Or mostly, just spite. He couldn’t even imagine being desperate enough to both work for the government <em>and </em> kill innocent people for the sake of “progress.” Their so-called American Dream. For something with such a nice name, it didn’t bring anything particularly <em>nice </em>with it. </p><p>But those were things that if he thought too hard about, the meaning of it all, the death and theft he’s personally been the cause and victim to, he could just as easily drink himself to death as well. Maybe one day he would. </p><p>It didn’t matter for now, though. A quick look through the stranger’s tent, the small wooden box placed by his camp, and all he had come up with was a can of peaches and seventy-six cents. The last thing to look through was whatever the man had on him, which wasn’t looking to be much more than maybe a few more loose change and a cigarette card Arthur most likely already had. </p><p>Until he felt a ring, right in the man’s front pocket. He brought it closer to the light of the campfire to guess how much it’d be worth. </p><p>A silver band, decorated beautifully with engravings on the side and a turquoise gem placed in the center. He figured it to be a wedding ring, or something equally as important and personal.</p><p>The turquoise was a bit of a giveaway to the ring’s origin, and the story the man had told him further proved his train of thought. Whether the man had gotten it through a genuine relationship or something sinister which was seemingly more likely, he realized he couldn’t sell it. He didn’t want to give it back, though. </p><p>And now, he’s stuck with it. </p><p>He’s only been stuck with it for a few hours, but it felt like days. In an act of stupidity, carelessness, and genuine distraught, Arthur had just stayed at the campsite with the stranger wondering what to do. </p><p>Maybe he was being overdramatic, but he really couldn’t sell it. It was too monumental, too heavy with a past that he didn’t quite know what to do with it to serve it justice. Wasn’t like he could just waltz into a reservation, either, offering it to other strangers who definitely didn’t want him there because of the implications that came with a man like him invading their home.</p><p>He was finally getting ready to head back to camp when he realized something that might’ve felt more obvious if he were any smarter. </p><p>The turquoise of the ring reminded him of the necklace Charles was always wearing. </p><p>He also remembered he’s been wanting to give him something for a while. Arthur wasn’t quite the type to memorize dates or even months. The only sign of long amounts of time passing was the changing of leaves or the dated newspaper Hosea sometimes buys. But, he knew it would be around the time he should be getting him something nice since they started... things.</p><p>Now, he was more than eager to get back home.</p><p>⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was well into the night that he finally arrived at camp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gives his mare Ruth an apple and brushes her white mane, murmuring praises and thank-yous for the long ride back home. Satisfied with her maintenance, he makes his way towards the scout campfire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Often, it’s really hard to locate Charles, always doing one thing or another. Even in the middle of the night. Tonight though, it seems Arthur is being waited on, as he approaches a familiar figure sitting against the log next to the fire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re back pretty late.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A playful scoff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ain’t realize I’ve got a curfew now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now</span>
  </em>
  <span>, now that they’ve established themselves as more than friends but still unsure as to… whatever it </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> is now. Maybe it’s just </span>
  <em>
    <span>one of those things</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the type that can’t be spoken cohesively about, the type of thing that lives through feelings and touches instead of spoken words, the type of thing all those sappy authors write about in Mary-Beth’s romance novels. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t start,” he retorts, in that monotone voice suggesting he’s annoyed but with a gentle smile that implicates otherwise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come here,” he says, placing a hand next to himself, inviting Arthur to come closer. When he sits next to the other man their shoulders touch, and Charles sets a hand behind him. Arthur leans in almost instinctively. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe those authors were onto somethin’.  </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s your day been?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, can’t complain. This camp’s a nice change of scenery, being next to the river. Do have to go out further for hunting, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, never cared too much for fishin’, huh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really. And you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With his free hand, he takes Arthur’s left hand, massaging the palm and running a thumb over his fingernails. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know how it is with Micah. Walk into town for an errand, leave it with dozens a’ bodies on the ground.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Civilians?” The expressed concern in the single-word question not missed by Arthur. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, just a lot of law. Well, some, but they had some sort of problem with Micah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t we all,” Charles scoffs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, before I forget,” Arthur begins, suddenly recalling and reaching for his satchel, “I got somethin’ for you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that so?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles gives him a look, a curious glint in his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur pulls out the decorative wedding ring and places it in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pause.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are… you trying to tell me something?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! I- uh,” Arthur starts, “Well, came across this feller who gave me some long confession of all his sins and stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Charles looks more closely at the ring, tilting it toward the light emitting from the campfire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, said something about how he worked in the government doing, erm,” and it suddenly dawned on him that giving Charles the context could make him hesitant to keep the ring. Or offend him.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doing what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He, well, he took the people to reservations. Told me all the things he’d seen, all the regrets he had. How he watched them die. Passed out right in front of me, so I figured I’d take whatever he got on him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles’s brows furrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I mean you don’t gotta keep it if it’s too much I just, just thought that it’d be better than sellin’ it off or leaving it with the bastard.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur goes to take the ring back, only for Charles to lean away and lifts his hand up away from his reach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mine now,” he says with a soft smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur half laughs, exhaling a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn it, Charles.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Glad you’re not dense enough to propose with a ring that doesn’t even fit me, at least,” he teases, leaning back into Arthur. “It’s very pretty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, reminded me of the necklace you've got.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll put the ring through it and just wear it like that, then.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur hums, watching the crackling fire, the flames having an almost hypnotic movement to them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been a little while since their last outing. There wasn’t anything necessarily stopping them at camp from doing the more innocuous things, aside from both of them preferring things to be kept more private. Going out meant more time alone, to do with as they please. The last few times ending up in a hotel somewhere, trying their hands at more intimate situations, such as...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a fool, Arthur Morgan,” Charles sighs, receiving a huff from the said man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t gotta tell me, I suffer the most because of it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That gets Charles to laugh, a sound he’s grown to cherish each time it happens, no matter how many times he’s heard it before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm. C’mere,” he murmurs, turning towards him and wrapping his arm around Arthur’s waist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They meet halfway in a tender kiss, the softness of night settling in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur’s arms settling comfortably around Charles’s neck, hands gently taking a hold of his long hair. He feels the brush of their lips against each other, taking in the warmth of his presence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nibble on his lower lip causes Arthur to let out a small gasp, and he presses his hand down slightly, wanting to be closer, as close as he can possibly be. Swift presses became fervent, each one becoming more necessary than the last. He feels the hand on his back, now smoothing up and down, as if in reassurance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls away for air and presses their foreheads together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Been a long day,” he sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, don’t be. You always make it better,” he admits, already kicking himself for being so open. It always happens around Charles. He knows that really, it’s supposed to and he should let it. But still. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Always the charmer,” Charles jokingly adds, the orange glow of the campfire illuminating his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He starts to move away, only for Charles to hold him again, not quite finished with their session. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that Arthur minds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i love them sm &lt;3 its national indigenous month and as a partly indigenous person, i fell in love with charles, but then again, who didnt? also excuse my overuse of ellipses and commas and long sentences. comments are very appreciated :*</p><p>anyways <a href="https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1kpse8wqYdjmPrtJPLWnT4RPKVK_-bmQfVP_xDg0d3g4/edit?usp=sharing">heres a link</a> to places you can donate to a bunch of indigenous organizations!! &lt;3</p><p>ALSO I REALIZED THE CONTEXT IN THE FIRST HALF IS LONGER THAN THE ACTUAL.. anyways. its only by like 60 words but IM SORRY. also can you tell by that kissing scene i only write about inexperienced teenagers because i’m also a dumbass teenager . writing about grown men was fun tho</p></blockquote></div></div>
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